I'd Say I'm Teacher's Pet, But I'm No Pussy
by Joanie Dark
Summary: Remy LeBeau has his work cut out for him with the pale-haired brat son of the assistant head of his school. Being a teacher, he takes an interest in setting the boy as much on the up and up as a part-time thief can manage, but it seems the boy may have other ideas. A multiverse-based Charter School/Domestic Science Class AU
1. Chapter 1

The second hand is creeping towards the twelve on the clock. It's so close, so terribly close to that beautiful bell. He could feel the corners of his mouth twitching into a grin. Three...two...

_Ziiiiip!_

_Briiiiing!_

"Hey Mr. L, sup?"

Goddammit.

Remy LeBeau got up from his desk with a sigh, shaking his head at that good for nothing problem child. This was the third time in the last two weeks he managed to get this close...this close to giving the damn kid the detention he deserved. He needed something to knock him off his high horse.

Fast bastard.

"Today then, class, we gone be working on one of the simplest and yet most difficult tasks you can possibly have in good cooking-prepping our own basic roux." He knocked lightly on the side of the large metal pot he already had sitting on the teacher's station, letting the clang ring through the room. "You may wonder, 'Oh, Mr. LeBeau, how hard can slopping some fat and flour together be,' but let me tell you, one moment on the stove too long and BAM! Forty minutes hard cookin' gone burn and you'll have no bechamel to show off to yo mama in law. Let me tell you, not a good experience." Remy smiled, waiting for the laughter of his class.

There wasn't any.

Remy shook his head, his dark black eyes rolling. These kids, they just didn't understand.

"Well, anyway. Kids, your instructions are all written on your handouts, but I'll walk you bebettes through the process. Now I'd rather use some bacon grease myself, but we gone be makin' a basic, true French roux, as it's needed if you ever make any of the mother sauces. So get yourself some of the butter and all-purpose flour, and grab yourself a lil veggie bag if it takes your fancy to spice this up a bit."

The students started chattering amongst themselves as they lined up for the supply fridges, and Remy sighed a bit. It was a month into the class, and he had definitely managed to single out that student. There was always that one bad apple that you had to cut the rot out of before it infected the rest of the bag, but it was a bit of an issue in the particular case-somehow he managed to have that cocky brat the boss discovered was his a couple of years ago. It was relatively well known that the speed-demon had actually wanted to leave when he was a sophmore, considering that the Xavier Academy's courses would have essentially given him a high school diploma by then, but Erik had put down his iron fist to declare that any offspring he had to pay through college would be finishing their extra years at the charter school, verdammt!

Which had just made the kid...irritating. It was relatively obvious he had signed on to Remy's course to take the piss, thinking it'd be a breeze to learn the fine arts of cooking. From what he'd heard from Erik himself, apparently he was sitting German as well and intentionally butchering the language simply to piss him off. He hadn't been talked about quite as much from the science and arts departments, but what he had heard...well. It was obvious the kid was acting out in more places than one.

The rumors were it was a bit more than that too. Apparently he had a suspicious number of items appear in his bedrooms considering that he wasn't working a job, and the cops may have been called more than once on him. He was never caught on a camera, though, and so no one could prove anything happened. While Remy did have to admit that as an experienced "liberator" himself he was somewhat impressed with the kid's work, it still bothered him to no end that he was using his powers in such a way. Years the mutant rights movement had been going on, and it was slip ups like these that could wind up with Fox News breathing down their necks. Homo Superior may be around 10% of the population, after all, but it was still a minority. He couldn't help but wonder if maybe it was a side effect of going to a school aimed at the mutant youth of the tri-state area was a part of the problem, but he shook his head. No, the Academy had done nothing but good for most of the kids there; it was just one bad seed.

"Now make sure when the color turns caramel, you turn that there heat down," Remy said, stirring his pot at the front of the room and adjusting the temperature. "We still got a long way goin' here."

"Mr. LeBeau, seriously, can't we just buy this at the store?" He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Tolerated moaned in the back. A couple students giggled, and before Remy could respond, there was a snap from a student a few tables over.

"Pietro, it's a shame you don't respect our teacher's art," the blue boy said, stirring his pot gently. "Some of us have expectations."

"That's right, Wagner," Remy said with a nod, and his star pupil beamed. Kid apparently was already gearing up to start a Bavarian bakery after graduation. Good, sweet boy. Honestly a shock he was Raven's kid with whom Remy was positive was the le diable himself. "Really, a good roux isn't somethin' you can get out of a jar. You need the labor that goes into it; it makes it all the sweeter."

The rest of the lesson went on relatively without a hitch, with most students successfully frying up a rich brown trinity-filled sauce, much to the delight of Remy. He had to be honest, first time he tried cooking the stuff it burned within the first ten minutes; he was glad there were relatively few casualties amongst the pots filling the classroom with a heavy aroma.

"You should find," Remy said, strolling towards the door, "that any sauce made from the fruits of your labor will give you a far more flavorful dish, so while it seems like a hell of a lot of work, it can be the vital difference between a good and an excellent dinner. I'll be stickin' all this in the Tupperware for us to work on next week." As he finished, the bell for the end of the period rang, and Remy felt a painful thud against his arm he had just managed to stretch across the door frame in time. He leaned down to drag the wincing white-haired boy up by his collar.

"See you Monday, class, we gone cook up a quality gumbo then!" He waved as the students packed up to leave the class, then turned to the boy he was still holding. "We need to talk, Mr. Maximoff."

Pietro wouldn't stop fidgeting as the non-teleporting members of the class filed out, much to Remy's annoyance. As the last girl left, he effortlessly extended his leg a full 90 degrees to the side and kicked it closed. He let go of Pietro's collar and leaned against the door with a frown.

"You've been suffering in your classes, and as both your course and guidance teacher, I'm very concerned about your performance." He could practically hear the teenager's eyes roll. "I know you're trying to stick it to your dad, hell, I know authority issues. But I wanted to see if you really realized the chances you're squandering."

"Hey, I'm doing just fine as far as I'm concerned."

Remy pointed at Pietro's workstation. The cast iron pot was on fire.

Pietro shrugged. "Just fine, Mr. LeBeau."

"That's not just fine an' you know it," Remy said. "Look, I can't keep you right now, end of the day and all, but tomorrow you're stuck with a detention. I don't want your to think of it as punishment, we're gone work out a plan o' attack instead, you see?"

"It's Friday tomorrow though!" Pietro whined.

"Think of it as an hour away from dealin' with your family."

The explanation seemed to suit Pietro, as he looked to the ceiling thoughtfully and nodded. Satisfied, Remy stepped away from the door.

"And there you-" the door smashed open and the boy in front of him was replaced with a blur, "-go."

Remy looked at the still flaming pot and sighed.


	2. Chapter 2

Wanda tapped her fingers on the wheel of the jeep while she waited for her brother. He was late. Boy was never late. He always would be laying out provocatively on her damn hood, smirking at her while she fiddled with grabbing her keys. She honestly didn't know why she didn't just force the guy to run home instead of getting a ride.

It was a shame it was a Thursday; Lorna would have loved to actually have front seat privileges, she was sure, but she was with her loving parents having a great time not dealing with their father during the week. Lucky bitch.

She heard a quick rush of wind and a slam, and turned to see Pietro buckling his seatbelt next to her.

"What took you?"

"LeBeau had the actual nerve to give me detention tomorrow," Pietro said, bouncing in his seat. "Hurry up, I could be halfway home by now."

"Pete, we live in Connecticut." Wanda shook her head and chuckled a bit to herself, turning on the ignition. "Too far. Besides, remember last time you decided to try to run there?"

Pietro let out an indiscernable mumble.

"What was that? I couldn't hear you?"

Pietro gave an exasperated sigh.

"I tripped and went through a waaaaall," he groaned.

"And that's why high-velocity running isn't always the best choice."

"Hey, I paid the fine."

"No, mom paid the fine." Wanda glared at him quickly before pulling out into the street. "She had to pay to rebuild the town hall, and that's why we're stuck spending 100% of our time with Erik instead of fifty."

"How come we couldn't stay with Uncle Django and Aunt Marya is what I want to know," Pietro grumbled, and stuck up his finger. "Before you say anything about us not being able to fit in their little apartment in Brooklyn, I'd rather live on their sofa than have to deal with those two."

"You're just saying that," Wanda said.

"I know you'd rather be staying with them too."

She didn't respond, merely turning on her iPod. 90s riot grrrl broke the palpable wall of silence between the twins. Wanda wouldn't say it out loud, and she honestly knew that her brother was rather torn over the familial relationships as well. It wasn't something to talk about, really. There was no doubt that their father had his issues, but neither of them could really help still feeling some odd tug towards him.

As soon as they were on the highway Wanda was a good ten miles over the speed limit on average, and glancing over she noticed the white-haired boy seemed to have brightened up a bit. It was no doubt still too slow for him, but she was still glad to see him happy. She clicked her tongue to get his attention, and he looked over at her. She pointed at a McDonald's billboard, to which he rose an eyebrow.

Lifting her left hand, she moved her wrist in a complicated pattern, immediately making Ronald's nose explode.

The twins both burst into laughter and she turned up the stereo, speeding into the passing lane amid a cacophony of honks from fellow drivers.

* * *

The traffic was relatively light, and in less than an hour the twins arrived outside the lovely colonial Xavier-Lehnsherr house. Before Wanda could even turn off the Jeep, Pietro was already out of the car, in the house, and up the stairs, sprawled on the bed with laptop in hand. His foot jittered faster than could be easily seen by the naked eye as he waited for the start up.

"Goddammit, Windows," he shouted angrily at the thing, only to hear a response from downstairs of "Ubuntu has near instant start up!"

"Shut up, loser!" he called back down and Wanda laughed, going off to do...whatever it was she did. Girl things, he guessed. His computer finally loaded up, and he gave a sigh of relief. Time to do anything but homework.

Just as a tumblr he was certainly not supposed to click through the I-Am-Over-18 button loaded on his screen, the tinny sounds of a midi Dark Side of the Moon started to chime from his bedside table. He groaned, quickly grabbing the phone and flipping it open.

"Pizza Hut, can I take your order please? Special on sausage today."

"Pietro."

He rolled his eyes at the voice at the other end of the line.

"Hi, Erik," he said. He heard a disappointed sound at the other end of the line.

"Is it still so hard to call me 'father?'" Erik asked, and Pietro nodded. Like hell; he'd gone fourteen years not knowing the guy, just because he'd been forced to hang at his house the last couple didn't mean he was going to start calling him "Daddy."

"Fine, vaaaaaater," he droned, scrolling through various porn gifs. Daddy was reserved for some hot piece of ass, that's for sure.

"Pietro," the man sighed.

"What's going on anyway, dad-guy?" Pietro said impatiently. Damn, that one looked a bit like LeBeau. That would be an interesting thing to think about tonight.

"Charles and I decided to take the evening off; a friend of his is opening a new restaurant in the city tonight, and we figured we'd stay over and..."

"Check out ladies' night, drink some appletinis, yeah. I get the idea. So you aren't coming home tonight?"

"...well, no. We may actually make a bit of a weekend out of it, so you and Wanda have some time to yourselves."

"We are going to empty your liquor cabinet." He smiled as he heard the man chuckle.

"Make sure to start with Charles' whisky," Erik said, and Pietro couldn't help but start laughing at the indignant, muffled sounds he heard coming from his stepfather.

"Got it, the 25 first." He clicked through to the next page in another tab. He paused, for his own time; in reality, there was no way that Erik would have noticed the hesitation before Pietro added, "Have a nice time, dad."

"We will. You and Wanda stay safe."

"Thanks."

Pietro flipped his phone shut, shoving the computer off his lap and dashing out the door and to the top of the stairs. He grinned as he called down:

"Wanda, guess what? We get Baconators tonight!"


	3. Chapter 3

Remy glanced at the clock on the wall and frowned. He had finished with the standard grade home ec class a good ten minutes ago, and that kid still was nowhere to be found.

It was a Friday. He should be already in his car, maybe driving to the city, having a nice night out, gamble a little, drink a little, maybe pick a fight or pick up a girl or two. A man of his talents had no business waiting around for his boss' , he supposed, it was worthwhile; why else become a teacher than to help out kids and improve their lives above his own fun?

Damn, was he getting old.

It was about then that Pietro walked into the classroom, giving a little wave. The little...

"Hey there Mr. LeBeau I hope I didn't make you wait too long," he said without a breath.

"'Nuff that I'm tempted to make you come here again on Monday. Sit."

"I'd rather stand to be honest, sir," Pietro said, leaning against the demonstration table at the front of the classroom and jittering his foot. "Sitting makes me antsy. Side effect of the condition or whatever."

Remy nodded, willing to let the indignation pass for the sake of keeping things as smooth as possible. Besides, for all he knew the kid wasn't lying; mutations were known to cause all sorts of issues, especially in young people who hadn't quite managed to understand themselves and their powers yet.

"Anyway. I've been talking with your other teachers, including your father..." An audible groan. Remy coughed and continued. "And you just don't seem to be on track with any of your courses. This don't have to be a punishment, boy. I'm here to help you."

"Yeah, yeah. You gave me the spiel yesterday when you sentenced me to stay back alone with you on a Friday. I know, I know." Pietro twirled a strand of hair on his finger with tangible boredom.

"Mr. Maximoff," Remy said, crossing his arms, "I don't want to make this a problem. I'm just concerned about your progress."

"Yeah, well, you have no need to be."

"As your teacher, I think I rightly do, Pietro." He leaned against the wall. "I just want to make sure that you're really getting everything out of your life that you're being offered. You're young, have opportunities..."

"Really, Mr. LeBeau, is this all necessary?" Pietro asked, jumping up on the demonstration table and kicking his legs. "I mean really. What's the good of putting me in detention? It's not like just making me sit around is going to make me a better cook; hell, I don't want to be a cook, there's no point to it, and don't give me another detention for saying that, I just won't show up, and you won't be able to make me because I'm sure that Erik would feel fine making up for fourteen years of child abandonment for having one teacher sacked for harassing his kid."

Remy simply stared at the boy with dark disgust at his run-on sentence.

"Besides," Pietro said, flipping about so he was lying on the table, stomach pressed against the counter, "can't I just do some extra credit or something?" He laughed a bit to himself. "Ahaha, extra credit. Oh, Mr. LeBeau, whatever could I do to get my grades up, please? I'll do things your girlfriend won't do so I can get that A." He rolled onto his back with a smirk, pulling up his Suzi Quatro t-shirt to show off his stomach. "I'll do anything, mistah."

Remy rolled his eyes and was about to tell the boy off when he popped up, tugging at the teacher's mauve tie until their faces were an inch apart.

"Anything."

Now, something took over that man. He had no idea what was going through his head that made him think it was a good idea, as it was one of the most terrible, irresponsible, reprehensible things he could possibly do as a man in power, yet Remy found himself leaning forward and locking lips with a pale-haired boy half his age. He pulled away from the boy quickly, putting his hands on Pietro's shoulders and preparing himself to apologize profusely and beg for word not to leak of what had just happened.

He found himself surprised by the expression on Pietro's face. It wasn't one of the horror he was expecting. The kid honestly looked...needy? Desperate somehow? It was an uncomfortable look, one that Remy only saw when he was putting a girl far too inebriated for her own good in a cab to her apartment rather than accepting her invitation into a bathroom stall. Still, this sober teenage boy was staring at him with an expression of utter need for touch, for some belief in affection being shown to him. It made Remy's heart ache somewhat to see him like this. A part of him almost wanted to just hug him now; he had a feeling the kid really hadn't gotten hugged enough as a child.

Before he could do anything though, there were arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him heavily on top of the desk as Pietro crushed their lips together. He was stronger than he looked, Remy had to give him that. He wasn't exactly a bad kisser; maybe a little rough around the edges, but Remy could tell the kid had probably been doing this for a fair amount of time.

Shit. He should not be thinking that. He should be getting out of there, shoving the kid's detention at someone else, drinking at home far away from any little German boys.

Instead he let Pietro expertly shove his tongue inside his mouth, grabbed the boy's shaggy hair in his hand, pressed his hand harder against his shoulder. Pietro moaned into his mouth, seemingly enjoying it from how the boy's hands were undoing Remy's trousers faster than he could say no.

He still had the decency to pull away then, an unexpected whimper coming from the teenager's throat.

"No, ch...Pietro. That's not…"

"Mr. LeBeau, please." The plea seemed genuine, accompanied by Pietro chewing his bottom lip and his brows furrowing hard. Every part of Remy's mind was screaming different commands at him. On the one hand, this was his student. Even if it weren't for the fact he hadn't fucked an eighteen year old in the past ten years, there was the simple fact that he was his teacher. An adult that the students, much like this one, should look up to and trust. But god, the way he fidgeted and clung to the fabric of his brown sport coat, that bright pink flush lighting up pale skin...

He would definitely need to go to confession later.

He found himself rationalizing as he let out a defeated sigh and pulled himself back down over the boy, kissing him back ferociously. Maybe this is what he needed. Maybe he needed human contact from a trusted adult. He would never tell Erik to his face, but he knew that the absence of a father could put a hideous hole in someone's heart.

Ew. No. Backpedal those thoughts.

It wasn't hard for him to wipe the thoughts away as Pietro pushed him back off before ripping off that terrible tee and throwing it on the stove top. Far from hygienic, but there was no way that Remy would complain, not with the boy grabbing his wrist and pushing his hand directly against the boy's crotch.

Pietro licked his lips, using his teacher's hand to rub through the fabric of his jeans before letting the man's wrist go. Back to getting those disgusting khakis off of him. Khakis. For a teacher as hot as LeBeau, he would have thought the man would dress it down a little, not look so stereotypically...teacher...y. Fuck. There were no words really. Just LeBeau really knowing how to get a rise out of a guy.

Pietro's hips rocked up into Remy's hand, wiggling his white brows at the teacher when they made brief eye contact. Those black and red eyes of his looked so torn. It really just made Pietro giddy to see a grown man reacting like that to him.

Remy found himself pulling down the boy's jeans like his hands had a mind of their own. His breaths were already growing heavy with longing a his eyes darted around Pietro's hips. He had already been able to tell from the feel of it, but the sight of the boy's cock pressing needily against the tight fabric of red-and-yellow briefs made his own trousers seem overly tight. Relief came quickly in the form of Pietro whipping off the man's belt and tossing it to the side, shoving his teacher's trousers and boxers to mid-thigh in a fluid motion.

"Damn, Mr. LeBeau, you are happy to-" Pietro was shut up by overly-rough lips against his, teeth nipping at the corner of his mouth. He moaned and grabbed at the desk with one hand, pulling the teacher's hips towards his own with the other. As soon as their mouths parted, his eyes started flickering between Remy's face, his hand, and their cocks, as if his mind was running too fast to form verbal language. Remy gulped and nodded. Legally, he figured, there was no going back from what was happening now, so he may as well. Not taking his eyes off of his student, he groped blindly around the counter until he managed to find a small bottle of olive oil. A part of him admired the irony that the budget decided to spring for Extra Virgin.

Pouring a little into his hand, his face got serious.

"As your PSE teacher, I have to say this is not the best optio-"

"Shut up and do it, Mr. LeBeau," Pietro growled, his hips jolting up violently. Remy chuckled, daring to lean forward to whisper in the boy's ear.

"Now, cher," he said, putting down the bottle and hooking his thumb in the boy's waistband, "wouldn't it be good to listen to your teacher?" He could feel Pietro shiver under him, practically vibrating. He grinned, wrapping his wet hand around their cocks and slowly sliding his hand up their lengths.

"That's a good boy," he whispered, pulling back a little so he could look at Pietro again, letting the panting, sweaty, youthful form fill his view and burn into his mind. Damn, it felt good, having him whimpering there, their bodies so close. He found himself close to laughing again as he saw Pietro trying to claw at the wood table top, trying desperately to grab onto something as he rocked his hips roughly into Remy's hand. The man took it as a sign to move his hand faster, letting his own vision start to cloud with the pleasure of heat and friction.

Barely a few pumps in, Pietro's eyes squeezed shut and he let out a high-pitched moan. Remy could feel the boy's cock twitch against his as a string of cum shot out, coating a few of his fingers. Remy had to bite his lip to avoid damaging fragile young self esteem with a comment on how "fast" he was.

His avoidance turned out to be unneccesary, though, as before he would have had the chance to say anything, Pietro was sitting up halfway on the counter, balancing himself with his left arm as he pushed Remy's hand off his cock and replaced it with his own. Looking straight into his teacher's eyes, he started stroking fast, smiling as well as he could while still panting desperately. It wasn't long before Remy was pulling their mouths together again, grunting softly as he came on Pietro's stomach.

He pulled away slowly, eyes half lidded, and wiped the mess off with his clean hand. He thought about apologizing for it, but the swirling mix of afterglow and guilt kept him silent. Instead, he simply turned to the sink to rinse off his hands.

Pietro hopped off the counter, swearing under his breath as he tried to catch himself on weak knees. Remy chuckled a little as the kid blinked, trying to reorient himself. Finally, he seemed capable of grabbing his discarded clothes and properly standing upright.

"...So can we say that...the whole row-uks thing is over with?" Pietro said, slipping his shirt back on over his head. Remy zipped up his trousers, brow furrowed.

"The what?"

"The row-uks I fucked up. Can we like, nix the F?"

"...The roux."

"Yeah, that."

Pietro apparently took Remy's dumbfounded stare as a yes, as he clicked his tongue with a grin and a pair of finger guns. The last thing Remy heard as a blur appeared in his vision was a doppler-fading "Thanks, Mr. LeBeau!"

This was shit.


	4. Chapter 4

"This is shit."

"Come on, man, that's no way to take it," Scott said, putting up two fingers to the bartender. The woman behind the counter promptly brought over two more glasses of bourbon on the rocks, and he nodded his head in thanks. "I'm sure whoever you regret sleeping with so badly isn't going to be that much of a life ruiner for you."

"If only you knew," Remy grumbled, picking up the glass and waving it absently. He had spent the last three godforsaken days mulling over the whole detention incident. He couldn't forgive himself; this was just one line he crossed that he couldn't rationalize at all. God, he was the lecherous old man fucking students for grades. This was never supposed to happen. There was a time when he was young and happy and flashing dirty money and hot watches and all that. Why he ever got bit by some moral bug and decided to go straight to teach, he would never know. It's not like he couldn't have gotten himself out of jail easily if he had ever actually been thrown in. Hell, it may have given him some extra street cred. But no, of course, even when he decided to go on the straight and narrow, he had to fuck it up. He hadn't stolen anything [expensive] or blown up anything [important] in the last four years he'd spent up in the godforsaken north, but then some beautiful, big-eyed trick of a boy had to go ruining his clean slate.

At least Scott didn't seem bothered, letting him vent and sipping strong liquor alongside him. Granted, between the math teacher's advances towards Jean in Psychology and his overly intensive coaching of the cheer squad, maybe it made a bit of sense. But beyond a bit of an obsessive vibe, Scott was good people-a little boring at times, but very stuck on leading and making his colleagues and students succeed. Not the worst person to drink with when brooding over things.

Damn, this was an unusual teacher's lounge.

He knew he'd never really understand why the hell Erik and Charles decided to have this bizarre strip-club vibe to the teacher's lounge. No, that was wrong...there was no vibe involved. There was legitimately a girl spinning around on a pole in the back of the room, he was sitting at a mahogany bar, he was having drinks bought for him for god's sake. Ah, his maman and papa would be so ashamed of him right now for taking such a job.

Well, you know, if they hadn't ditched him in the hospital and all.

He couldn't help but wonder if his time at this bizarre institution had done something to him. But no, he had to think his time skulking around Bourbon Street as a youth was likely worse than most anything he was partaking in now; hell, the dancer was seen here as a tasteful presentation of the erotic arts, and more importantly, he wasn't the one spinning around onstage. That was an interesting summer. Still, proper teacher and that though he might have been, many of his past vices cleared and wiped away, that Friday was still hanging hideously in his mind.

"Scott," he said slowly, and the man looked over. Well, he assumed he did; it was always hard to tell what with the Ed Hardy shades. "Have you ever found yourself having...indecent desires for a student?"

"I swear my relationship with my girls is strictly professional," Scott said, throwing his glass back hard enough his bangs almost flew off his head. Remy blinked.

"What?"

"I take my position as cheer coach incredibly seriously, and I wouldn't dare have any sort of contact with one of my girls," he said, looking across the room. "Oh, hey there, Jean!"

The red-headed guidance counselor looked over with a smile and a wave. In all fairness, she was more than just a counselor—she did have a medical doctorate and taught the occasional Intro to Psychiatry class, if there was demand—but in general the poor psychic was used to being the being on whom all her coworkers and students bared their problems.

"Hey, Jean, I was just telling Remy here there was no way I'd be sleeping with the head cheerleader. Tell him I'm right."

Jean smiled and backed away back to her table with the short, hirsute History professor.

"Oh, that girl. I swear, one of these days..."

"I t'ink she be seeing the Wolverine," Remy said, motioning over to their table as the woman laughed at what was presumably a joke from the half-smiling Canadian.

"No, no way. Not Logan. Me and Jean went to school together. We've always had a thing."

"Well, it seems her interests may be waning, little rabbit. You ought to really be trying to run back to her more."

"Weren't we talking about your weekend escapade anyway?" Scott said, motioning as if to lower his glasses in scorn. Lucky for the sake of the building, he had the sense not to.

"...Really, I don't think there's much left to talk 'bout," he said, putting his now-empty glass back down and grabbing up his overcoat. "It ain't gone happen again." It was true, there was no way he'd let himself give into that again. Whatever madness had overcome him in that classroom, it was banished to the back corners of his mind.

No way in hell would he sleep with Pietro Maximoff again.


	5. Chapter 5

"No way in hell am I not sleeping with Mr. Lebeau again."

Wanda snorted, tapping with a stylus at the handheld device in front of her. Lorna paused while braiding her sister's undercut to lift a fading green eyebrow.

"I'm glad that breaking the law made you such a happy man," she said, and Pietro rolled his eyes.

"I don't need your judgements, Lorna. It's not as if you're not getting up to less than savory things yourself."

"Hey, selling to Mr. Summers and frick-fracking my home-ec teacher are way different things," she scoffed, grabbing a pink bobble and tying up the end of her older sister's hair. She looked back at her brother and a tiny smirk formed on her face. "Though, I guess you have to spill the beans about how it was."

"A gentleman doesn't kiss and tell."

"You're no gentleman, Pietro," Wanda said, poking her twin with the stylus and giving him a wink. He threw a pillow at her face in response.

"Shut up, Witch!"

"Come on, Quickie, when'd you gain sensibilities?"

"Stop throwing my pillows, I swear to god," Lorna grumbled, levitating her phone by its metal case into her hands. She flicked through the messages absently. "Besides, I told you when I hooked up with Alex."

"Thank god it was before he was eighteen, or you'd be as illegal as him," Wanda said with a smile. "He still likes you, you know."

"Yeah, but I'm not going to go get him kicked out of his frat before he can even rush for statutory," she said with a little smile, taking a selfie quickly with Wanda's braid in her hand. "I know my limits, unlike Peter Peter Penis Eater."

"Lebeau's gorgeous and worth getting thrown into the infamous iron container for," Pietro said, clasping his hands dramatically over his heart before laughing. "Besides, it's not like they could catch me. I could zip away from the police faster than they could calculate the age difference."

"From what I've seen of him from Erik and Charles bringing people over, I guess I'd have to agree," Lorna said, and Wanda nodded.

"He's a good man at heart. Pietro and I both have him for homeroom. I honestly think if you have to go off with a ridiculous love affair, he's not the worst one to run off with. Still, can't you wait until maybe you're not his student or something?" She put her hand on her twin's cheek, stroking it softly. "It's not really a good idea."

{I am not sure if the relationship you three are discussing is truly practical, but it seems as if Quicksilver would receive strong emotional benefits from pursuing it.}

Lorna and Pietro looked a little confused as Wanda scowled at her handheld.

"Vision. Really."

"Was that..." Lorna asked, peering at the screen. Blinking back up at her was a brightly colored avatar with red skin and clad in green. It's eyes angled a bit towards her, then Wanda.

{This is your sister Lorna, correct?} he asked, and she nodded, turning the device slowly towards Lorna.

"Yes, she's Lorna. And this," she tipped it towards Pietro, "is the boy we're all talking about."

{Ah, Pietro looks like his voice made him sound,} the avatar said, nodding. Pietro's lip raised slightly.

"Wanda. Why is your gameboy talking to me."

Wanda opened her mouth to answer, but the device interrupted.

{I am Vision, a synthetic AI organizational, entertainment, and companion system owned by sweet Wanda,} he said plainly, and Wanda coughed.

"I'd appreciate if you don't speak over me," she said, placing the device down and glaring at it. Vision looked...somewhat apologetic.

{Apologies,} the mechanized voice said, before the avatar turned back to look at Pietro. {I encourage caution when working with this relationship, because from the data I've ascertained from my past conversations with Wanda, you are both overly impulsive and in desperate need of the type of relationship I can tell you want by analyzing your vocal patterns.} Vision smiled at Pietro's confused face, the image seeming to almost convey sympathy. {I am unsure I can ever understand 'love' as a human concept, but I can understand the issues of attraction between two beings that should not under normal circumstances be together. It is with that that I wish you both luck and safety in your exploits, should you choose to pursue them.}

"...Thank you," Pietro said, some of the slowest words he had ever uttered in his life. There was an awkward silence as the two unaware siblings stared at the seemingly sentient handheld.

"...Well," Wanda said, slowly picking up the system and clutching it to her, "this slumber party seems to have ground to a screeching halt."

"Your gameboy talks," Pietro said, mind whirring to try to process. Lorna hopped up with a sigh, brushing herself off.

"I'm going to go get popcorn," she started, "and if by the time I'm back up here we're still talking about this and the TV screen does not have the main menu of Batman on it, you're all kicked out of my room."


	6. Chapter 6 and 7

Chapter 6: Tuesday, September 7th: Between First and Second Period

Slow. Slow slow slow. Why oh why did students insist on moving like such glaciers between classes, clogging up the hallway so he couldn't even run properly? Pietro could've been where he needed to be in milliseconds, but at this rate he'd be unintentionally late for German class, and it wouldn't do to have Erik annoyed at him for a good reason.

But he had to make sure he ran by Lebeau's office today. Somehow that asshat of a teacher had managed to avoid him the entirety of Monday, even dodging conversation in homeroom. His speed at running away from his problems Pietro had to find a little admirable, but he still found himself growing progressively more annoyed as he played the obstacle course to the cookery lab.

He almost thought he saw the man go pale when his black and red eyes latched onto him, but Pietro knew there was no way his presence could be that upsetting to his teacher.

"Mr. Lebeau, hi-"

"Mr. Maximoff, I have thirty fourteen-year-olds I got to teach not to burn toast, I don't have time for this," Remy said, his voice somewhat more halting than normal.

"I promise, I'll be fast," Pietro said, and Remy couldn't quite hold back a snort of laughter. Pietro grinned. "There we go. You're so much more handsome when you smile."

"Pietro..."

"Look, I got to get to German to pretend I don't know an arschloch from arsenvergiftung, I'm in a rush too. So I'll say this fast." Pietro put a finger against his teacher's lips; Remy felt tempted to bite it. "Shh shh shh. All I wanted to say is that if detention is like Friday was, you can bet I'm acting up a hell of a lot more." He paused a moment, his heart pounding in his chest as he looked over Remy's face for a change of expression. on, Mr. Lebeau, that was at least worth getting some bedroom eyes and a quip back from you.

He sighed, taking his finger away. "So yeah. Third period today, right? I think I just might mistake a teaspoon for a cup of salt in whatever roadkill we're cooking up today." Nothing, not the slightest rise. Pietro looked at Remy in mild disgust. Jesus.

"Right. See you after lunch, or whatever," Pietro said before zipping away.

Remy waited until the boy was out of sight before he let out a hard breath and lowered his shoulders. That little son of a bitch. He could tell how much he was trying to rile him up, he knew this was going to end terribly. This would be worse than that time with the nun. Or the time with his boss' wife. Or that time with...

Ey Remy, stop that now, you hear? Ain't no good coming in thinking like that.

He shook his head. The freshmen. Right, they'd take his mind off of the brat he knew he couldn't avoid in a few hours. He walked into the classroom, seeing the ghost of Pietro lounging on the demonstration table, all soft skin and constrained moans. He squeezed his eyes together to get rid of the thought. Non. Not right now. Get rid of the thoughts of how good he looked, how nice he felt, how he almost sounded like he actually wanted it to happen again. Damn, in any other world he'd be taking that boy home at the end of the day, but there was no way he could abuse his power like that. Non. No matter how good he'd look fucked into the mattress, face buried in a pillow, panting his name and talking about what a naughty boy he'd been-

No. This is a time for baking cookies, not fantasizing .

Still. It was a hell of a nice image.

Chapter 7: Tuesday, September 7th: Third Period

«You actually seem like you tried today.» Pietro clicked his tongue at Kurt's snide German as they rinsed their cupcake trays in the sink

«Maybe I have finally gained the joy of baking you have, ma'am,» Pietro said, and the blue boy laughed, tail flicking. He put the tray away in the washing rack, snatching Pietro's from his hand and putting it away as well.

«I actually started baking for a girl too, you know,» Kurt said.

«Oh please. I'm not playing little miss domestic like you are,» Pietro scoffed. «And though it's nice you have your little Bavarian bakery plans that seem to please our weird-ass extended family, I'm pretty sure your 'baking for a girl' was just because Kitty can't bake for shit.»

«What can I say, muffins can speak words that the mouth dare not.»

«Words like 'get the ever-loving hell out of the kitchen.'»

The two laughed, pushing each other as they went back to their table. As per normal, Kurt's cupcakes looked like some heavenly delicacy, whereas the clumsy swirl of chocolate frosting was slowly sliding off of Pietro's.

«How the hell are you so good at this,» Pietro grumbled, and Kurt gave a thin smile.

«When you're blue and fuzzy and make people scream when they see you in the street, you have to learn to be very good at something to give yourself some value to the public.» He rearranged the non-graded cupcakes in their takeaway tray. After a few moments of discomfort, he looked back at Pietro. «So who is it?»

Pietro looked at Remy, who was inspecting the display cake of a trembling Mortimer, and Kurt's golden eyes grew wide.

"You dog!" he said, smacking the other boy's arm with his tail. «Have you been hanging out with Emma or something?»

"Shut up, you dweeb," Pietro said, pulling the tail in retaliation. "As if I..." «As if I'd go grade-hunting like her. Not that I don't admire her style, but still.»

«Well, if you want to impress him, I'd recommend you try frosting your cupcakes after they cool.» Kurt smiled at the teacher as he came up to inspect their displays. "Guten tag, Mr. Lebeau. Wonderful class, as always."

"I hope you two kids ain't gossipin' too much," he said with a slight laugh, writing on his pad as he looked over the pastries. His eyes avoided Pietro's, but he gave a nod as he gently pushed up the side of the icing. "You're improving, Maximoff. Maybe you should sit with Wagner more often."

Pietro practically beamed.

«Och, Pietro has a boyfriend, Pietro has a boyfriiiiend,» Kurt teased as soon as Remy moved on. «Good thing you're in senior year. You can probably actually date him when you graduate, from what I've heard about Mr. Lebeau's standards outside of the classroom.» He walked two fingers along the table, making his point clear.

«You're acting like I haven't already,» Pietro said, and Kurt looked puzzled.

"What?" he asked, just in time for the bell to ring. Kurt cursed under his breath. "Schize, I have business management now. You?"

"Free period. Lucky me already had Physics and German today."

«Maybe we could hang out after school today? You're in the city this week, yes?»

«Yeah, I'm with mom, but tomorrow would honestly be better if you're up for it,» Pietro said, looking over at Remy cleaning up the demo table. Kurt looked between them and it seemed to click.

«Right, I hear you! If you want to skip out on last period tomorrow, we'll head down early. Bet I can teleport faster than you can run.»

"As if, you plebeian."

«Haha! Have fun boinking your husband,» Kurt said, a single pelvic thrust to accentuate his point before he bamf-ed away in a cloud of brimstone.

Pietro shook his head and walked up to the demonstration table, leaning himself over it. He waited for Remy to take notice of him, finally clearing his throat to get his attention.

"Ahem."

"Don't you have a class to be gettin' to?" Remy asked, throwing the last icing bag in the trash. Pietro shook his head.

"Free period. And as I so happen to know, you don't have a class to teach right now either. You'd probably just be wandering to the teacher's lounge to drink with whatever other lonely sap is in there before resigning yourself to spending an evening in your office grading freshmen papers on how to boil water."

Remy frowned. "It's not as grim as you try to make it sound, cher." He hoped the boy didn't notice the word slip out of his mouth, but that grin said otherwise.

"Still, it could be more exciting." He grabbed the teacher's hand. "Go out with me."

"Look, Pietro," Remy said, his voice lowering, "that's not a thing that I...we can really do. You have to understand, with me being a teacher and-"

"Nice to know that's your only protest," Pietro quipped. "But that's not what I meant. Let's just get out of here. If anyone talks, fuck, you've known Charles how long? You're just 'helping his rogue stepson.' Sort of like how you helped with detention." He raised and lowered his eyebrows quickly. "No big deal. No one would think twice if you said that. Come on. Let's go out."

* * *

Remy didn't know how he actually let the boy talk him into this.

The white-haired little menace was leaning over the table, licking his blueberry cheesecake cone slowly, as if there were actually anything erotic about the little creamy drip sliding from his lip gently to his chin. Remy couldn't help but find it slightly gross, and tried to occupy himself with thoughts of the daquiri ice in his waffle bowl.

Sweet, deceptively non-alcoholic sorbet.

"So, Mr. Lebeau. Do you appreciate my lack of burning your assignments lately?" Pietro asked, wiping the dribble away from his mouth and sucking it off his finger. Remy coughed to clear his mind.

"It hasn't been long since the last fire in class, but I have to say, you have shown great enthusiasm to improve since Thursday. Still, I'm not sure if pulling the ability to bake a basic batch of basic cupcakes out of thin air is really highers quality, so I'm hoping to see your work improve even further."

"I promise I'll toil long hours over a stove just for you, darling husband of mine," Pietro said with an eyeroll.

"Really, though. We're extending with experimental flavoring next class, I want you to make sure you keep an eye on the ovens for whatever horror you decide to think up. And before you take that as a jab," he said as Pietro's mouth opened in protest, "I'd expect nothing less of you, as I'm sure you have the creativity to even make terrifying ingredients work well somewheres down in that fast-thinking head of yours."

He tried to look positive, but the boy simply stared at him. They sat in silence while eating for a few moments before Pietro finally slammed down his free hand. Remy jumped, almost dropping his spoon.

"I asked for a date. What is this, really." He glared into Remy's eyes, and the teacher sighed. He pushed the bowl away a bit and leaned back in his chair, bringing his fingers to the bridge of his nose and rubbing in frustration.

"Look, cher, if you weren't a student, I weren't a teacher, I got to say. There's a pretty good chance I would take you up on that there offer, but n'est bien pas."

Remy didn't like that slow smile forming on the boy's face.

"So you're saying that if it weren't for the sake of our 'work relationship' you'd be more than happy to get involved with a guy like me."

"Don't want you getting the wrong idea, but I can't say it never would have happened. Hell, it may happen in the future some day, but right now the amount of talk..."

"Are you serious. We're both mutants, obviously queer, and you're worried about people looking down on us for that."

"Words mean nothing from the boy asking someone to commit statutory." Remy shot a glance over at the thankfully-unstaffed counter. Pietro looked over and shook his head.

"Don't worry if she comes back out. She's one of Emma's friends, trust me. Non-issue." He took a bite of his cone. "Right, fine, so it's a legal thing, not a propriety thing. Guess I get it, especially seeing the rumors of your career before Charles came and picked you up here."

"Exactly. Jail is a thing I'd rather avoid."

If it was possible, Pietro's grin grew wider.

"So it's settled then, we'll keep it on the down low."

"That is not what I said," Remy stated, though his shifting in his seat betrayed his interest. Pietro continued.

"Look, I like you, and I'm pretty sure I've seen that you like me. I'm willing to keep this quiet for the rest of the year if it'd make things work. It'd be like a game yeah a game a hell of an annoying game that is really a bitch to play but I suppose it'd be worth it for the 'points' I could score and...talking too fast. Too. Fast." He paused to breath. "We could just meet in quiet, no more dragging you to places or whatever. Nice dark places behind closed doors, huh?"

Remy couldn't help but grin slightly, feeling a bit of the thrill of a less-than-ethical past rustling somewhere deep inside him. Kid...surely that was a disrespectful way to think of Pietro, wasn't it?He was practically a man by this point. He could be drafted. He'd be paying taxes soon.

Those half-lidded bedroom eyes awaiting his response were terribly compelling too.

"You sure you okay with all this?" Remy asked, leaning in and lowering his voice. "This ain't some grades ploy or cry for help or none of that after-school special business?"

"Isn't it more exciting that way?" Pietro asked in a nonplussed drone before taking another languid lick at his ice cream cone. Remy chuckled.

"I can see a lot of me in you, bebette," he said, tapping his fingers on the table.

"That's what I'm hoping for."

"That's enough of that," Remy said, struggling not to laugh. "If it's kept quiet. You can't go calling me Remy or nothing in public now."

"Loose lips sink ships." Pietro gently ran his fingers along the back of Remy's hand. "I'm expecting a lot of office hookups to make up for this, though."

"Pie-"

"Hey, it's fair for a guy to want to be taken to dinner and a sow from time to time, you know? So if I have to give that up, I can demand to take something almost as good."

"Don't go making a bahbin, I understand, I'd rather..." Remy paused, putting his spoon down and pushing away from the table. "It's complicated and you know it."

"I know," Pietro said, hopping up and running around the table in a smooth, almost humanly imperceptible motion. Leaning into Remy's ear, he whispered, "and that's why we'll finish talking this out during lunch tomorrow. I'll see you in your office."

The boy was out the door again before Remy could say a word, only a fluttering napkin with some remaining cone crumbs left of his presence.

A gaggle of teenagers came in, one of them mentioning to another the weird gust of breeze that had just gone by. A girl with long green hair looked over at Remy with a wink and a finger-pistol. He sighed and grabbed his coat.

This was the most trouble he'd gone and got into in a long time.

* * *

_**((HEY, this is JD. FYI, after this update, I'm p much quitting ! This fic is still active on my AO3, so look joaniedark up there baes!))**_

_**In other news, Pietro has a tumblr at fast-bitch. Sometimes NSFW, he reblogs some stuffand also posts sometimes, as well as answers questions. Check it if you want.**_


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